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SYDNEY 2000; The Third Man In Mexico City

Peter Norman felt as if he were flying, an exhilaration that today, 32 years later, he can barely describe. He churned around the curve and blazed down the backstretch on a warm night in 1968 in Mexico City. He burst across the finish line, looked at his time of 20.06 seconds in the 200 meters and shook his head in disbelief. He had run the race of his life.

''From there, we walked into the athletes' lounge and began combing our hair and prettying ourselves up for the ceremony,'' Norman recalled at the Olympic Village here this week. ''Tommie and John were talking about what they were going to do. They involved me in the conversation. It wasn't as if they were having a secret huddle. They were letting me know.''

Smith and Carlos were about to raise their gloved, clenched fists on the medal stand, creating one of the most indelible images in sport and changing their lives forever. The third man on the podium would be Peter Norman, who had flown not just to a silver medal but also to a small share in Olympic history, and to a moment that would change his life, too, in smaller but just as permanent ways.

''I said to John, 'You got another one of those badges?' '' Norman said, referring to the human-rights badges Smith and Carlos planned to wear over their hearts. ''He said, 'If I get you one, will you wear it?' I said, 'I sure would.' ''

The badge, about three inches wide, said ''Olympic Project for Human Rights,'' the words outlined by a green laurel wreath. As a fifth-generation member of Salvo (the Salvation Army church), Norman had been raised to support human rights and was aware of the charged racial climate in America in the late 1960's.

''I couldn't see why a black man wasn't allowed to drink out of the same water fountain or sit in the same bus or go to the same schools as a white guy,'' Norman said. ''That was just social injustice that I couldn't do anything about from where I was, but I certainly abhorred it.''

Carlos, in a telephone interview this week, called Norman's being the third man on the medal stand that night ''an act of God.''

''He was chosen to be the third man, I'm convinced,'' Carlos said. ''To wear the badge as a white individual, it made the statement even more powerful. During a crucial time in our lives, he was compassionate, understanding and he showed his manhood. I'll always respect and love him for that. Pete became my brother at that moment.''

Norman would never again run as fast as he did in Mexico City. He remains the last Australian male sprinter to win a medal in the Olympics. In the 32 years since the ceremony, while he has fathered two daughters and nearly had his leg amputated because of a running injury, he has forged a bond with the two men that goes beyond this coincidence of history. He remains in frequent contact with Carlos and passes along Carlos's religious e-mails to his mother.

He also has a photographic memory of that night in Mexico City.

Moments after their meeting in the athletes' lounge, trumpets heralded the trio's arrival to the medal stand.

The two Americans wore only black socks on their feet ''to symbolize black poverty,'' they would say later. Smith and Carlos climbed the medal stand purposefully, hollow, cold expressions on their faces. Facing two American flags and one Australian flag, the three men listened while ''The Star-Spangled Banner'' blared through the Olympic stadium. Smith and Carlos raised their fists, encased in black gloves, into the thin twilight air. The black power salute had come to the Olympic Games.

''There was an American in the top part of the stands,'' Norman said. ''Well, he got about four bars into it and his voice just faded out. And in that few seconds between him ceasing to sing and the next phase of the reaction, all you could hear was the music. And then there were the catcalls, the boos, the hisses and the whistles and the cheers. Every single human emotion that you can imagine came down out of those stands. And it was directed at those two guys.''

Norman recalled another detail. ''The guys probably don't even remember, but it was my suggestion that they split Tommie's gloves because John had left his gloves back in his room,'' he said.

Smith lives in Santa Monica, Calif., where he has coached track and taught at Santa Monica College for more than 20 years. ''I don't know if John ever had any gloves, but that's why he had the left hand and I had the right,'' Smith said in a telephone interview.

Carlos, a born-again Christian, lives in Palm Springs, Calif., where he teaches in a high school and does social work.

Norman will fly from his hometown, Melbourne, to watch the 200-meter final later this month. He turned 58 last June. The thick brown hair has receded to a thatch of prickly white, which he wears so closely cropped that it almost resembles a flattop. His wind-burned complexion gives him the look of a seafarer on the Great Barrier Reef.

He works with the Victoria state government for the Melbourne Sports Training Coordination Center. For the last three years, he has been responsible for taking teams to Victoria to train for the Games.

His involvement in 1968 has gone almost unnoticed during these Games. But the moment lives on in Australian lore. Along the route of the train from downtown to Olympic Park, a large photo of the 1968 medal ceremony is plastered on the side of a house, under the words, ''Three Proud Men.''

Norman was ostracized by some members of the Australian news media after the 1968 incident. Julius (Judy) Patching, the Australian Olympic team manager, confronted Norman the day after.

Norman added: ''For those two guys to sacrifice what they did that day, for the cause they believed in, was nothing short of heroic. Here they are in an Olympic moment they had worked for all of their track careers. And they chose to give their own version of glory over to the cause they believed in. These two guys stood up there on their little square meter of world that they owned at that time and they made a demonstration without throwing a stone or shooting a gun that has held up for 32 years. And it didn't hurt anyone.''

Norman thinks the demonstration by Smith and Carlos is still misconstrued.

''I firmly believe that what John and Tommie were looking for was just a fair go. Equal rights,'' he said. ''And they certainly weren't getting it.''

Smith said: ''Because we were black, we wanted to make a defining statement with the gloves. But a lot of Neanderthal minds at the time looked at it as if we were glorifying black power. It was about human rights. Even then, Peter understood that. He was, and is, a kind, soft-spoken, thoughtful man.''

Norman continues to stand on principle. He is vehemently opposed to the government's treatment of Aborigines: ''What we do to our native Australians, our own indigenous people, is nothing short of horrific.''

The Aborigines were not allowed to vote until 1962 and were not counted in the national census until 1967. The Australian government will spend $1.5 billion on Aboriginal programs this year, addressing disadvantages in health, education, employment and housing.

''Throwing money at them is not the answer. We've got a prime minister who won't say, 'Sorry,''' Norman said of John Howard. ''The problems won't be resolved. But by saying 'sorry,' I think they could begin to talk. I can't say 'sorry' on behalf of Australia, but the prime minister surely can.''

Norman counts winning the silver medal among his greatest achievements, especially after he was forced to give up running nearly 10 years ago. He almost had to have his right leg amputated after he severely tore his Achilles' tendon while running a relay race in Melbourne.

Plaster was placed around the injury, but bleeding from the wound did not allow it to harden properly. Gangrene set in.

A surgeon explained the procedure in which a portion of his left Achilles' tendon would be severed and sewn across on the right side to fill the hole. He would have to have a bar inserted between his knees and spend three months on his back.

''He said, 'It's a chance to save your leg,' '' Norman said. ''He also said, 'You'll go mad.' He was right. It was a short trip for me,'' he added, laughing. ''I didn't have that far to go to mad. The rehabilitation was extremely painful, but I would never complain about that. I've still got shoes in pairs.''

In 1993, Norman, Smith and Carlos reunited in Malibu, Calif., for an Australian documentary on sports and politics. Norman stayed with Smith and his family. ''We just kind of looked at each other and it was: 'Hey, guys. Here we are,' '' Norman said. ''The first thing all of us did was shed a tear. John asked them to stop the cameras.

''I can't exactly remember what triggered it, but he said, 'I haven't seen you guys for 20 years, but suddenly I feel like I've been with you every day for 20 years.'

''There was a bond there that was a little bit more than just friendship. We hadn't done anything social together, but we had been through an experience. I believe there are only two areas of life that that bond ever occurs: on the sporting field and on the battlefield. You grow through the conflict and you emerge together. I think that's what the Olympics are all about.''

Norman has stayed in touch with Carlos over the last decade. He spoke with him about two weeks ago and asked if Carlos was coming over for the Olympics.

''He couldn't make it, but I said I'd call him during the Games and we would have another chat,'' he said. ''He e-mails me about once a week.''

Thirty-two years after the 1968 Olympics, Norman's time in the 200 is merely 0.64 seconds off Michael Johnson's world record set four years ago in the Atlanta Games.

''I won a silver medal,'' he said. ''But really, I ended up running the fastest race of my life to become part of something that transcended the Games.''

Said Carlos: ''A lot happened back then. But the most amazing thing was, I didn't know there was a white guy who could run that fast.''

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A version of this article appears in print on September 17, 2000, on Page 8008001 of the National edition with the headline: SYDNEY 2000; The Third Man In Mexico City. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe